


It's The Company You Keep

by TrisB



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark, F/M, Gen, Masturbation, Post Season 2, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-14
Updated: 2006-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrisB/pseuds/TrisB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts are just another kind of wishful thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Company You Keep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Lizzen's [prelude in C-sharp minor](http://liminalliz.livejournal.com/955741.html), which is Mac-POV of the season two finale, "Not Pictured." They don't necessarily have to be read together, but this comes after hers. ALSO, thanks to Lizzen for all her help.
> 
> Blanket "this is creepy and wrong" warning. Also, mentions of canonical rape, molestation, and murder.

Dr. Ruth, the sex expert, once said something like, "The only shame in masturbation is doing it wrong." Mac used to obsess over this half-remembered statement in the shower and in the bath and at night, exploring gingerly what was hers to know every inch of; it was hers also to fear, to examine doubtfully with a compact and a flashlight and wonder if it was all put together as well as it should be. Sex ed units in three different classes and she still had never been taught anything that mattered — what does an orgasm feel like, and how do you know if it was fantastic or just okay? What's the best way to...make one, solo? Textbooks always used words like "vulva" and "clitoris," and the terrible stories at nifty.org had phrases like "swollen nub" and "dripping cunt," and as ridiculous it was for the switched-at-birth baby to fixate on this, she couldn't help but resent how unfair it was that boys were born with anthropomorphic handles for convenient autoeroticism, while most of the way through high school she was still trying to make sense of the raw-looking folds between her legs.

She spent an awful lot of time worrying that she wasn't masturbating very well.

That passed, eventually, and she grew a lot more confident with her technique. She knew what she liked, and she liked what she knew. Mac loved the way a good orgasm could take her mind off of any problem — a lousy mood, cramps from hell, general resentment over the injustices of life. It was free and it was easy, and just got easier and better after she found a boyfriend. Much more effective to fantasize about a boy who periodically stuck his tongue in her mouth than some nebulous ideal. He had gorgeous sad eyes and sweet fluffy hair and softsoft skin and. Even without passing second base, Cassidy had improved her sex life immensely.

The thing is, Cassidy is now dead and a murderer and a rapist and one who hadn't been able to get it up for her when she was there for him, conscious and willing and wanting, and all that considered Mac is pretty fucking sure that no matter how awesome her orgasms are getting, she's doing it wrong.

She sees Logan with Veronica, has heard things. What did he do after Lilly died, after he saw those tapes? Did he just close up shop? The faces of the dead blur in her mind, she's discovered — _remember Meg, remember Peter_ , she says to herself when Beaver won't stop haunting her. But they've been gone longer, had more time to fade, and she didn't know most of the — of Cassidy's victims. So she keeps her showers short, avoids the bath completely, and listens to ocean sounds mp3s while trying to fall asleep, but hormones will out and it's always there and he's there, he's still there smirking and whispering and kissing her like he did, and she finds herself _there_ as well, peaked on a precipice of intense sensation she wishes she could throw herself off of. And if she lands twisted on the hood of a car like he did, she'll have almost deserved it.

He won't leave her mind and her fantasies and her fingers (his touch was so precise and she knows why now, oh god). She can hardly find air; she is coming to believe that she does deserve him.

A shuddering breath, the end of a dream, and she's back, gripping the shower's tiled edge for balance that takes longer to return with each successive set of spasming. She wishes she could bathe via goddamn sponge bath, neither tempted nor tormented by absurdly disparate memories. She dries and dresses herself thoughtfully, like she always takes care to these days, and her hair's still soaking and saturation-dark when Veronica knocks on the dorm room door and invites her out — lunch and Ultimate Frisbee with Logan and whoever his new classmate buddy of the week might be. She's never seen Veronica so obvious about anything before, but then look at what happened the last time Mac found her own date. She supposes Veronica wants her to deal with Beaver's death, Beaver's life, in some way that doesn't involve cutting off all her hair or taking solace in bimbos or self-medicating beyond the reach of pain. She realizes that Veronica believes herself to be as worldly as Mac had once said she was. She knows that they were both wrong.

"No thanks," says Mac, like she says every time, like there's a decision yet to be made, "I think I'm better off here, alone —"

(she hasn't been since he's been gone).

**Author's Note:**

> Author's commentary [here](http://allbackups.dreamwidth.org/345892.html).


End file.
